


Perfect Storm

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [13]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: A 1000 word post-TWOTL fic. The fifth timestamp for The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, set between Volumes 2 and 3. Will and Hannibal are married and living in Cuba. One night, a thunderstorm wakes Will. Finding himself alone, he goes in search of Hannibal.Written as a Tumblr giveaway fic for the lovelysirenja-and-the-stag.I'mfragile-teacupon Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/gifts).



He wakes alone. Doesn't realise it at first, drowsiness clinging stubbornly like a lover as he reaches automatically across the bed. But when searching fingers contact only empty, cooling sheets instead of firm muscle and warm skin, Will's eyelids flicker open.

Turns his head and glances at the bedside clock: three-fifty. Yet light pours in through the ceiling-to-floor window, a wall of glass overlooking the ocean. Another moment and it's gone, as if some supernatural hand has flicked off a gigantic universal switch, plunging the world into darkness.

Then the rumbling starts, distant at first, growing louder. Persistent, aggressive. And Will realises what's happening.

Flinging back the covers, a grin tugging at his lips, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room to get a better view. Doesn't think he'll have long to wait - the storm's moving closer - and sure enough, within a few moments, silver streaks burst across the sky in vivid flashes, stealing Will's breath.

For a while he stands, clad only in his boxers, enjoying the spectacle. Waves, frothing and writhing against the unforgiving rocks lining the shore; clouds, bruised and swollen, scudding grimly across the sky; and every so often, jagged bolts of lightning dissecting the darkness with lethal precision. 

Until it occurs to him that several minutes have passed and he's still alone. 

Throwing on a t-shirt, he leaves the bedroom and makes his way downstairs. Checks on Ceph, still sleeping soundly, curled up on her favourite mat in the utility room. Frowning, Will looks around. A light, dim lamplight, draws him to the living room. It seems at first glance to be unoccupied until he spots Hannibal sitting on the cream rug, back to the sofa, torso bare and pyjama-clad knees drawn up, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, hands white around the glass. 

'Hannibal?'

'Go back to bed, Will.'

Taken aback by the harshness of Hannibal's tone, Will moves to sit on the edge of the sofa and places a tentative hand on his nape. 'What's wrong?'

Hannibal stiffens but doesn't shrug him off. Takes a swallow of the whiskey and sets the glass on the floor at his side. Frowning, Will cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair in a soothing gesture. 'Tell me.'

'I found myself unable to sleep.'

'Yeah, that much I got.' Will allows a teasing note to filter into his voice to diffuse the tension sparking off Hannibal like pinpricks of static electricity. 'My question is, why?'

Reaching up, Hannibal captures Will's hand, presses it between his own, stares down at it broodingly before bringing it to his lips, kissing the platinum ring encircling the third finger.

'This storm.'

Will's brow creases. 'It bothers you?'

'So it would seem.' But flaring defensiveness quickly subsides into hesitancy. 'The night we fell, there was also a storm.'

'I - don't remember.' Taken aback.

'Of course not. You were barely conscious.' 

'You said Chiyoh saw what happened and used your boat to rescue us.'

'Yes. But before that, when you and I were in the water, a thunderstorm hit.' Hannibal's voice is low and tight.

Will slides off the sofa and into Hannibal's lap. Arms around his neck, he rests his chin on Hannibal's shoulder with a sigh.

'Tell me.'

Hannibal's hands are warm on his waist, tugging him in. 'Much like this one, it seemed to come from nowhere.'

As if on cue, a crack of thunder - the loudest yet, the storm now directly overhead - vibrates through the house. 

'Within minutes it had whipped the sea into a frenzy.' 

An answering flash of lightning sears the sky, illuminating the room, chasing shadows across the high ceiling. 

Hannibal's next words are muffled against the crook of Will's neck. 'Three times you almost slipped from my grasp. Three times I almost lost you.'

Tears burn hot behind Will's eyelids and he pulls closer, tighter, legs wrapping around Hannibal's hips. 

_'Will, don't leave me. Don't you dare.'_

Lifts his face, lips feathering across Hannibal's stubbled cheek. Seeking until their mouths connect in a long kiss. Sharing breath, sharing comfort. 

'But you didn't lose me. You found me. We found each other,' he murmurs, hands skimming down Hannibal's back, tracing warm, shifting muscle. 'When I heard you calling my name - how frantic you were - that was when I felt, really _felt_ , you loved me.'

Hannibal sighs against his lips. 'I have never loved another, Will.'

Another deep kiss and another. Hardening lengths jut and rub, thin cloth no barrier to flesh that swells, aching. They rock together, mouths opening beautifully to each other, tongues teasing hot.

'We were forged in that storm,' Will pants, forehead pressed to Hannibal's, fingers busy between their bodies, baring them both and sighing at the exquisite sweetness as he takes them in hand. 'A perfect, impossible fusion, baptised in blood and salt water.'

'Did he smile his work to see?' Hannibal groans, thrusting into Will's greedy grasp, back arching in a deep curve. Irresistibly drawn, Will follows, mouthing kisses against the tangle of greying curls on Hannibal's chest, grazing first one nipple then the other, fist working faster to pull increasingly louder moans from his writhing husband. And from himself. 

'Did he who made the Lamb make thee?' he gasps, shuddering helpless pleasure as slick release pulses between them, mingling sticky and pearlescent.

Rumbles of thunder fade into the distance, relinquishing the dying strains of nature's symphony to the metallic chime of raindrops pelting the glass wall. Will lies half-sprawled atop Hannibal, heartbeats gradually slowing together.

'Better now?' Turning his head to peek upwards through sweat-dampened curls.

Hannibal hums in amusement, tugging him up to press tender kisses against his hair. 'Was that your idea of therapy?'

Will grins. 'That depends. Did it work?'

'Hm. Next time there's a thunderstorm, I'll let you know.' 

Smiles at Hannibal's teasing reply, the last ripples of tension dissolving like foam on the shore.

'I love you.' Eyes drift closed, contentment coiling.

The calm after their own perfect storm.


End file.
